


Pachinko

by harcourt



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Dehumanization, I wrote this for the kinkmeme, M/M, Slavery, Still, but mostly mentioned in passing, some themes are quite dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:29:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harcourt/pseuds/harcourt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For <a href="http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/10266.html?thread=22284570#t22284570">this prompt</a>.</p><p>When Tony discovers he's attracted to Clint, and then discovers that Clint is SHIELD property and not entitled to a personal life, he does the only thing that makes any sense.</p><p>He starts a secret relationship with him.</p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	Pachinko

It's believable when Natasha blows them off with her cool, assessing gaze, like she can't believe they think she'd waste her time stuffing her face with pizza and playing on the vintage pinball machines down at Fredrique's--the pseudo-French named, Indian run best pizza place in ever, the quirkiness right up Tony's alley.

It's less believable that Clint, when he's finally allowed out of the bowels of the SHIELD psych unit, doesn't want to go either. It seems like his kind of deal, pizza and loud flashy things, and damned if it doesn't look like he _wants_ to go, longing written all over his face.

"You under some kind of house arrest?" Tony pushes, because that would just be mean, after everything Clint had been through already. 

Clint smiles, "Nah," he says, "I just got a check-in I've got to be here for." 

Tony waves a cell in his face, "I built these for a reason, you know. One them being that team mates shalt not miss the hallowed feast of the pizza pie." He grins, "I convinced Thor there's a ceremony involved."

"I have to answer from the land line," Clint hedges, and Tony rolls his eyes. 

"JARVIS, route the living room phone through Barton's cell." He pauses, then, "And done. Let's go."

Clint accepts the phone when Tony drops it into his hands, but doesn't move, shifting his weight uneasily, "Tony. I _can't_. Okay?"

It's not okay. Not only because he'd been anticipating Clint's help in mocking Steve and Thor--because Bruce had a sense of humor, but it was a kind of depressing one--but also because Clint looks tense and uneasy. "This a psych thing?" he asks, because those guys are _bastards_.

"Yeah." Clint looks relieved to have an out. Even Tony can tell he's lying through his teeth. 

"Okay," he says, "Fine. Potato curry pizza is the best, and now you'll never know."

"Why?" Clint says," You won't bring me a doggy bag?"

\----

Tony doesn't want to bring him anything, but Steve insists, so there's a half pizza on the kitchen counter when Clint stumbles out of his room at the sound of their entry. "Oh. It's you guys," he says, and sounds surprised. 

"Who else would it be?" Tony asks, "Cap took pity on you. Eat up. Where's Nat?"

Clint pads over to peer into the pizza box, "Out," he says, "There was a thing." The unsatisfying Clint-ish non-answer. Tony's getting used to them, but it makes him frown.

Clint pulls a slice out of the box and grins. 

"Okay," Tony says, as Clint practically inhales the pizza, "So it's not that you're against fusion foods."

"What?"

"I thought New York might be blowing your small-town mind."

Clint looks annoyed, somehow managing to glare and come off intimidating despite having his face stuffed full of pizza. "I've been based in New York before, you know," he says peevishly, still chewing, "Damn. This really is the best."

"I _told_ you," Tony says, "Tony Stark knows all the best hang-outs and all the best food. Next time come along."

"Damn," Clint says again, but appreciatively and to the pizza, and grabs another slice. 

\-----

Clint doesn't come along the next time. He blows them off when Tony drags the team to the Thai burger place--they have an amazing spicy chicken sandwich--and then again when he tries to take them to eat Americanized Chinese food, and then authentic Chinese food. He won't come along to Balinese barbecue, or Korean barbecue or even the straight-up plain-old-US-of-A style steakhouse, burger joint or the diner where everything sucks except the milkshakes and the pie, which are incredible. 

"Something's up with you," Tony tells him, "Either you don't like us--and I highly doubt that, because we're extremely likeable--or you're an agoraphobe, _or_ you're taking the opportunity of our absence to report back to big poppa Fury. Or someone."

"I'm not an agoraphobe," Clint says, "that doesn't even make sense."

"And you like us, of course you do, so you're reporting on us to SHIELD," Tony concludes, "That hurts my feelings. I'm uninviting you from sushi night." And even though Clint would probably not even come, he manages to look like that's a blow. Enough of one that Tony reconsiders.

"Okay. You're reinvited. But I have my eye on you."

And JARVIS's eye, but Clint doesn't need to know that.

\-----

Clint might not be an agoraphobe, but JARVIS's report, when Tony asks for it, is that he _never_ leaves the tower unless he's gotten a call first, or sometimes after he's made a call, but that second scenario is rare. It's not a SHIELD thing, because Natasha comes and goes, but it's definitely some kind of a thing, because the two of them huddle together and talk too low for JARVIS to eavesdrop, serious and sometimes animated enough that Tony thinks it's a fight, even though their voices never raise beyond an unintelligible murmur.

And it's _definitely_ not that Clint doesn't like them, because he hangs out with Bruce and Tony in the lab all. the. time. Not necessarily making himself helpful, but just to shoot the shit, leaning over the table to wisecrack at Bruce or comment on Tony's projects. He humors Thor, listening to his stories and explains the twenty-first century to Steve without losing patience or enthusiasm, and turns down every single one of Steve's invitations to wander the city and scope out architecture or whatever Steve-like thing Steve feels like doing. 

And Steve might have a tendency to wax nostalgic--even though maybe it doesn't count as nostalgia when the reminiscence is of a past that's effectively pretty recent-but Clint doesn't seem to mind that sort of thing. Seems to enjoy it, even, listening to Steve talk about Brooklyn-that-was as he draws in the living room, long after the rest of them have bailed.

"Maybe he's just a homebody," Bruce offers, "Leave him alone. Stop obsessing."

"And it's none of my business and he'll tell us what's going on if he wants us to know," Tony finishes for him. 

"Yes," Bruce says. 

Tony snorts, "How is that going to help me find anything out?"

\-----

Tony obsesses his way right into an obsession, but a totally different kind. A bit too busy digitally stalking Barton all over the tower to really notice it himself, until he blows something up in the lab that was _supposed to_ blow up and Clint whoops and give him a stupidly jockish double thumbs up, grinning like a maniac behind his safety goggles.

He's adorable. He's hot. Something's just blown up and was an engineering success at the same time. Tony can hardly be held accountable for his actions under those circumstances.

Clint seems to feel the same way, because he kisses back when Tony yanks his goggles up and presses their mouths together. "Did you see--?" Clint's saying, laughing around the kiss, and between kisses and _of course_ Tony saw. It was _his_ experiment. "That was--Geez. Can we do it again?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we can." If Clint would stop talking over the explosion kiss, they could do this _now_ instead of blowing stuff up to do it again. Or Clint maybe just wants to blow stuff up. That's fine, too. Tony follows as Clint takes a step back, and then another. 

He's not sure where Clint's going, because all the surfaces in the lab are cluttered tables, but he's not going to complain. Clint bumps into one, and Tony takes the opportunity to toss Clint's safety goggles entirely away as Clint grabs at his shirt.

"Tony--"

"Hang on. Hang on," Tony says, and leans in. Clint shoves, a little. Reluctant. "It's fine," Tony says, "Bruce won't come back. He left the minute I said 'incendiary device' and he won't come back. And--" Hell with it. "JARVIS. Lock the lab." It's easier, and safer, but Clint ducks out of the kiss anyway. 

"Stop, Tony. I can't." 

"What do _mean_ you can't? Explosions mean we have twenty minutes of no rules. You're wasting the time."

Clint snorts, but he doesn't go back to kissing Tony, either, and when Tony tries to pick things back up, he pushes him back again, gently. "Sorry, Tony. I just can't, okay? I--"

"What? You what? You want a mushroom cloud? I can do that. Give me ten minutes."

Clint makes a weird twisted expression, his nose wrinkling a bit, his mouth tensing as his jaw works. " _What_?" Tony says, "Did I totally misread the situation?" He was pretty sure Clint had _wanted_ to, minutes ago. He smells smoke and char and it's not a happy smell anymore. It's just sharp and kind of itchy in his nose and throat now. 

Clint catches him as he steps back and away, fingers tightening in his t-shirt and pulling him back. "Tony. Don't be all--Look, I _want_ to, okay?" Clint sounds peevish now, angry, but not at Tony. He makes that unhappy expression again, then looks away. "I'm not allowed to."

That's what that expression is. Shame and discomfort and Tony recognizes it now that Clint won't meet his eyes. "What do you mean you're _not allowed_?"

"They'll take me off the Avengers," Clint says, "Or--"

"Wait, wait," Tony says, readying a barrage of questions, but Clint looks suddenly dejected, so he holds the volley back. He doesn't need _Clint_ to get the answers to questions, after all. "I'm hacking everything," he tells Clint, "Tell me right now if you want me to not do this."

\-----

"You're _property_?" Tony rants, storming unannounced into the kitchen, waving his tablet. "Why didn't you _say anything_? Is this why you wouldn't go to pizza and burgers and Chinese and sushi and barbecue and pie?"

Clint doesn't answer, but he does scan the kitchen, slowly taking in Steve's reaction, then Bruce's reaction. Natasha's not there, which is lucky, because Tony's pretty sure that _her_ reaction would have been to snap his neck like a twig for the public announcement of private information, and he probably should have thought of that before hand.

"And all your phone calls?" Tony goes on, letting the fact that he's been spying out of the bag. Clint nods, suddenly focused intently on the table-top.

"Not allowed off the premises without orders or permission," Clint says, the admission grudging, "And I'm not asking them for things I don't _need_ , Tony. I'm sorry, but _fuck_ them."

"Geez," Tony says, "Special Agent Barton"

Clint smirks without humor, "Special _Status_ Agent Barton," he corrects and sketches a mocking little bow, "But that's Specialist to you. And you know. As code."

"Special status," Steve echoes, with no expression on his face. Probably having all sorts of moral crises, considering how often and how deeply they worked with SHIELD and how at odds the whole situation was with all the things that Steve believed.

Clint huffs a little and slouches in his chair. "You alright with this, Cap?" he asks, as Steve gets up. His voice sounds hollow, a little.

"Not even remotely," Steve says, but pats Clint's shoulder companionably on his way out.

\-----

Tony blows something up on purpose so he can invoke the twenty minutes of post-explosion no rules rule he's made up for his lab and kiss Clint again.

"Twenty minutes is a really long time," Clint gasps, pushing him back after about four, "for a panic rule."

"I'm not a trained operative," Tony says, letting him go, "it takes me longer to gather my wits when a fireball erupts inches away from me."

"It was twenty yards and _you_ set it off," Clint says, but hops onto the end of one of the worktables so he can pull Tony in and rest his chin on top of his head. 

Twenty yards isn't that far where fireballs are concerned, but he has a point with that second one. Tony wraps his arms around Clint and says, "So kisses bad, cuddles okay?" and Clint snorts.

"No. This is probably bad, too," Clint says with a little laugh, and lets Tony go to smirk down at him. "It's more the divided loyalty they don't like, I think. It inspires bad behavior." Clint smirk goes a bit crooked as he says that last and Tony loves that look on him, but not right now. Not about this. He frowns up at Clint and after a second Clint deflates, "It's not that bad, Tony. It could have been--They bought me right when things were really starting to go bad. It probably saved me." 

"That's a nice interpretation," Tony says, "Very silver lining," and then, because he's not going to set off another explosive device if what they do in the ensuing panic is going to get Clint in trouble or hurt, "If they found out--?" he pauses short of saying _secret romance_ , but only because he thinks Clint won't take the question seriously if he does.

"Make me live on-base, for one," Clint says and shrugs and Tony gets the feeling he's had a number of apartment moves because of it. "Maybe under supervision. And for _this_ \--" and it's really clear 'this' means Tony, "probably pull me from the initiative. They already--" Clint stops to tug Tony back, "For _Special Status_ I'm already off SHIELD property and out of their sight most of the time. They don't like that. Plus, I'm not exactly their favorite person right now."

"Tell them I'm willing to keep an eye on you for them," Tony says and Clint snorts but presses his cheek to Tony's head. He can feel that Clint's frowning. 

"Secret romance," Tony whispers, to cheer him up.

\-----

The secret romance plan is totally brilliant, once he can talk Clint into it, at least until Tony tugs Clint's shirt off and finds a tidy scar on the base of his neck, right where it becomes his back. He's not sure what draws his attention to it, because Clint is covered in scars, and this one is small and tidy in comparison to most of them, but when he brushes his thumb over it, Clint flinches and ducks away. 

"It's a tracker," Clint explains, after a minute, and lets Tony poke at his neck. 

"Jesus, Barton." It was totally different when it was someone else who was spying on and keeping tabs on Clint. Hell, it was totally different when it involved implanted devices. 

He leans against Clint until they both topple over and then rolls over on top of him, but the mood is dead. "Sorry," Clint says, when Tony settles to running his thumb along the tidy little scar, over and over.

"Can we--?"

Clint shivers and shakes his head. "Tried. It's not going anywhere."

Tony tries to imagine what Clint's talking about, then tries to stop imaging it. "But not with a doctor?" he says, and sits up to look down at Clint.

"Stop trying to fix this," Clint says. "I don't want to secret romance if you're going to be obsessing the whole time." He kind of sounds like Bruce just them, if Tony discounts the _secret romance_ part. "And yes," Clint goes on, " _with_ a doctor. And SHIELD was _pissed_ , and I don't want to go through that again. Okay?"

It's not Tony's fault that he likes to fix things and make improvements, and this fact of Clint being a fucking _slave_ definitely has room for one of those things if not both.

\-----

"You could at least let Bruce look at it,' Tony says, because he can't leave well enough alone, and Clint elbows him sharply in the ribs, first with the right arm and then the left, until Tony steps back and gives him room.

"You don't really know the definition of _secret_ , do you Stark?" he grouses, and glances quickly around. 

"Sure I do. I'm going to ramp up my inappropriate touching all around, as a cover. No one will notice. In fact, it'll be weird if I leave you out."

"What?" Clint says, with his _that doesn't even make sense_ face. The one he'd used when he'd said "I'm not an agoraphobe." Tony tries to think up more bullshit to tell him so he'll make the face again, but now that he's trying he can't come up with anything.

"It's the tower. It's _my_ tower. What is it with your the-walls-are-watching-me thing anyway?" 

Clint lets his breath out in an exasperated huff and looks a bit embarrassed. "I used to get caught a lot," he says, but doesn't say at what. Tony tries to guess, but everything seems either too tame or too off-the-wall and Clint watches him think, then leans in and drops a quick kiss to his cheek before hopping up to sit on the counter and pour himself coffee.

"Way to keep a secret Barton. Right in the kitchen. What if Steve had come in? You could have scarred him for life, and then we'd have to explain traumatizing Captain America and _then_ where would you be?"

"In basement holding at SHIELD, probably. Being signed in and out like the rest of the equipment," Clint grins and tries to hook a leg behind Tony's knee to pull him in, but isn't quite close enough. 

"Ah ah. If you're not allowed, that's naughty. Do your rules say I can't touch you, or you can't touch me?"

"That's the same thing," Clint frowns, and Tony steps back to look him up and down and smirks.

"Oh, it really isn't."

\-----

"You _own_ Clint?" Is the first thing Steve says the next time they see Fury.

Fury says, "Not personally," and seems utterly unfazed by Steve's outrage. "He was a _criminal_ , Captain. If SHIELD hadn't taken him on, his ass would belong to the state. And that's _if_ his trial had gone well. You catch my drift?"

Tony catches his drift. He also catches that Clint had gone into crime under duress, and under the pressures of hunger and poverty. He starts to say so, but Clint's slouched in his chair, clearly uncomfortable with having his private business become an argument right in front of him.

"Barton." Fury says, and Clint looks up.

"Yes, sir?"

"If you wish to lodge a complaint, you know there's--"

"I'm not the one complaining," Clint cuts in, sounding defensive. Sounding alarmed, a little. Fury gives him a long look, but drops it.

"You know I don't make the rules, Clint," he says, a little kinder, and changes the subject, going back to the briefing.

\-----

The discussion, however, doesn't get dropped, at least not by SHIELD, because a couple of days later Tony finds Clint standing outside his room in a t-shirt and his boxers in the early morning, looking like he's just waiting for someone to give him an excuse to bust.

"Hey, Barton. Nice legs."

"Fuck off, Tony." It's not as snappy as Clint's foul mood had made Tony expect, and after a second he looks Clint up and down again, then glances through his doorway, into the apartment beyond. Clint leans against his open door and glares, clearly emanating _get lost_ vibes.

"Why are you standing out here in your skivvies? Is this some kind of weird assassin guard practice thing? At five AM?"

"Maybe I like mornings," Clint tries, unconvincingly, just as there's a loud thump from inside. Tony raises his eyebrow at it.

"Got company?"

Clint's gaze drops and he shrugs a little, "It's five in the morning so they can hustle me out of bed. It's a--a thing."

"To do what, exactly?"

"Turn my quarters over. They like to catch you unprepared." Clint says that last with a touch of humor, like he doesn't think he's _ever_ unprepared and _just let them try_. 

Tony gives Clint another look, and starts to go to give the bastards a piece of his mind and an express ticket off his private property, except as he starts to stalk through the door, Clint grabs him by the shirt--just briefly, a quick tug before his hand drops back to his side. "No, Tony." It's low. An un-Clint-like whisper, "Anything that's mine is technically SHIELD's. Including living space."

"It's not yours. You didn't sign a lease. I'm not charging you rent. It's basically a glorified guest room." Ergo, _Tony's_ and SHIELD has no right.

Clint's breath leaves him in a frustrated sigh. "Please, Tony?" 

The plea is even less Clint-like than the whisper had been, sapped of his defiant confidence. The request of someone powerless to enforce their wishes, and if Clint thinks slavery's done nothing to damage him, if Clint thinks this is in any way _alright_ , then he's--either an idiot or suffering some kind of Stockholm syndrome. Tony can see how fucked-up he is just by the fact that he's willing to stand here in the doorway to his own home while agents rifle through his belongings.

SHIELD's belongings. Fuck.

Tony gives Clint's shoulder a pat and says "Okay. Your apartment, your rules," and gets them both coffee. Comes back to hand a mug to Clint, and then lean in the door frame opposite him, cradling his own.

"So. Nat?"

Clint shrugs. "Staying free was a condition of her defection." He grins proudly, and Tony knows that means he's behind it somehow. Either he'd filled Natasha in, or gotten Coulson to organize it, or _something_. 

"Nicely done," Tony says, and holds his mug out in a toast. Clint clinks his own against it and smirks.

\-----

Clint's rooms getting tossed mean Clint's room isn't safe for secret romance, so Tony takes him up to his penthouse, then sends him packing before SHIELD goons can come and find an empty bed, because even though JARVIS could alert them, Clint's had half a lifetime of _needing_ to be found where he was told to be and gets jumpy.

It's totally fucked up. He has half a mind to lock the damn agents out of his security, except that he's sure that making trouble for them would just make trouble for Clint. Might get Clint pulled from the team and therefore from the tower. Where at least Clint wasn't _property_ , even if SHIELD wouldn't stop harassing him. 

Clint rolls and rests his chin on Tony's ribs, hand playing over the arc reactor, covering and uncovering it by turns, casting shadows onto the ceiling. Tony runs a finger over the scar on the back of his neck again and says, "How about an EMP? We've shut stuff down with that before."

"No fixing, Tony," Clint says, without irritation. Like he expected Tony to forget, to try again and wasn't surprised, much less offended. He dips his head to kiss along Tony's ribs, over his muscle, his nipple. Tony swats him as his tongue darts out, and Clint chortles, pressing his face to Tony's skin.

"I'm serious Barton. No surgery required. You'd just ... drop off their tracking system."

"They know where I am, Tony," Clint points out, "And I don't want to leave the Initiative just for--"

"Just to be free?"

Clint sighs, and shifts again, until his back is tucked along Tony's side. "Yeah. That. God, you're a mood killer." Then, when Tony kisses the scar, "If you set it off, it'll paralyze me, Tony."

"Jesus."

Clint laughs, dark and low. "I told you. I tried before. And they came and got me when it when to shit and reset the damn thing." He waves a hand in a gesture that would be dramatic if he wasn't half-lying on that arm, "And bam. Good as new. But if you _break_ it--"

"Okay. Okay. I got it." He rolls Clint back then sees the time and rolls him off the bed instead, saying "Clock strikes midnight." It was _way_ past that, "Don't want your dress to turn back into a pumpkin."

Clint hits the floor with a thump and sits up, looking pissed. "Damn it, Tony. Warn a guy."

"I'm a fixer. I _fix_ , Barton." Well, fix and build, but that second part wasn't really relevant at the moment.

Clint doesn't answer right away, just climbs to his feet to hunt around for his clothes, and gets dressed, then heads for the door. Pauses. Then says without turning, "They took their time to fix me, Tony. They gave me a good two days to think it was permanent."

Fuck. _Holy_ fuck, even.

"Well, geez. Now I want to ask you to stay so I can give you hugs," he says, and can't quite make his woeful look come out amusing.

"Can't," Clint says, "Footmen turning into mice and all that."

\-----

The next time they come to search Clint's apartment, they frisk Clint too, out in the hall. It's just _mean_. Clint's not hiding anything, dressed like last time in his sleep things, hair still tousled from being thrown out of bed. 

Or possibly, Tony thinks, he's _really good_ at hiding things on his person. He gives Clint a longer considering look and wonders if he maybe is that scary. 

"I'm a little sneaky," Clint allows, keeping his hands on the wall like he's obviously been ordered to. He shoots Tony a grin that is more than a little reminiscent of Tony's boarding school days, like a kid who's been caught doing _something_ , but is getting away with something else entirely. Something _better_.

It's the perfect time for a secret you-know-what joke, but Tony keeps his mouth shut, unwilling to risk it. Clint can see the thought in his face anyway, though, because he smirks, smug and self-satisfied. 

Until Cap shows up and joins Tony hanging around in front of his rooms. 

"What's going on here?"

Clint looks uncomfortable, but doesn't move. "Morning, Cap." The casual tone is almost funny, considering he looks like he's about to be taken in for questioning.

"What are you doing? Why aren't you dressed?" Steve asks, then, like Tony had the first time, peers in through the door. "What's going on?"

"I'd get you coffee again," Tony says apologetically, to Clint, "if you weren't busy holding up my wall."

Even without an answer, Steve puts two and two together and his face goes dark. All offended Captain America righteousness. "Who the hell's in your room?" he asks, even though he's probably figured it out by now. Clint shrugs.

"Some guys. I don't ask about your company, Cap," he says, and gives Steve a grin and a wink. Steve frowns at him. 

"How'd they get in?" And then, "Are you in some kind of trouble, Clint?"

"Nah. They're going to find--I don't know. More arrows than I'm supposed to have when not supervised." Steve twitches when Clint says _supervised_ , and Clint amends it to, "Off-mission, I mean," but it doesn't make Steve look any happier. 

"Don't worry about it," Clint says, "Maybe they'll find my phone while they're at it. I put it down somewhere last night and damned if I can remember where."

There's two of them, and they don't seem to think Clint is anywhere near as amusing as Clint seems to think he is. They don't tell Clint to shut up, but the more Clint wisecracks, the rougher they are with his things. Tony hears something crash and looks at Clint for permission to go in there with Cap and show the Agents the door--with unnecessary force, preferably--but Clint just shrugs one shoulder and shakes his head.

"They're not my things," he says, like it doesn't matter. Clint's _things don't own things_ business is getting old and depressing. Tony is all about owning things. Nice things. Clint's easy acceptance of the destruction of his living space--and it _is_ his, as far Tony is concerned. It's _his_ tower and he sure a fuck never gave an apartment to _SHIELD_ \--grates in a way things that aren't his business probably shouldn't. 

"Is this because I mentioned it to Fury?" Steve wants to know, his voice guilt-soft and gentle. Like he thinks Clint is at all upset by what's going on when it's really Clint's _lack_ of response that should be upsetting.

"It's more the helicarrier thing," Clint says, his face solemn now, "I don't know if you heard, but I did some stuff--" he cuts off as the agents emerge, one with a clipboard, the other with a quiver of arrows and a gun case.

"Clint," Clipboard says, too familiar. Not calling him _Agent_ or _Specialist_ or even _Barton_. It's a power play if Tony's ever seen one, and it's _pathetic_. He raises an eyebrow at the guy and catches Steve folding his arms over his chest, pulling on his _Captain America Disapproves_ look--chin lowered, eyes hard, mouth an un-Steve-like line. It's as close to a glower as Steve ever gets. Clint either ignores it, or, still facing the wall, doesn't see.

"Yes, sir?" he says, and the obedient deference in it makes Tony want to smack him.

"We've had a talk about allowable practice ammunition before." The Agent nods at his buddy. At the quiver and gun case. "Firearms aren't on that list and you're well over your limit on arrows." 

It's reasonable for Clint to have them. They don't always have time to head to the armory when a call comes in, and the tower's been the front line of one battle already. Tony has two spare suits in his own apartment and he knows Natasha has a veritable arsenal in her hall closet alone and sure, Thor might just have Mjolnir, but Mjolnir _was_ an arsenal.

Clint's jaw sets, but he doesn't answer except to repeat, "Yes, sir."

And that's when Steve decides he's had enough, pulling Clint back and behind him like that will protect him from administrative sanctions, and says, "Agents. Get out of our home." It's even and calm and bordering on friendly, but the hard glint in Steve's eyes says it's clearly a threat. 

Clipboard ignores it, but Steve ignores _him_ and tugs Clint with him into Clint's rooms, closing the door behind them and effectively shutting Tony and the Agents out in the hall, his voice drifting out, saying, "--help you clean this up."

"Well," Tony says to the agents, "I can see you off, or would you like the tour?"

\-----

"And the _next_ time your agents decide to make Hawkeye stand out in the hall in his _underthings_ ," Cap threatens, sand Tony can't even make himself laugh at his use of _underthings_. 

"You make it sound so much more interesting than it was," he says, making a try for the joke anyway. Steve ignores him. Fury glances over and his eye looks even angrier for a second, but he doesn't respond either.

"While they _search his rooms_ ," Steve goes on, sounding totally fucking offended. Tony half expects him to end with _it's un-American_ , but he doesn't. "It's _not right_. He helped save New York. The _world_. He--"

"Bit the hand that feeds him," Fury interrupts, then sighs and sits back in his chair, "He's a good agent, Rogers. But he was compromised and he's living off-premises and frankly, he's slipping his handler as often as not. I've cut as much slack as I can."

"Assign him to the team," Tony says, "We're your Initiative--of sorts. In a a way. He's your agent. Assign him to the team. We'll handle him." 

Fury looks dubious, steepling his fingers and looking like some sort of lethal school principal. "What are you up to Stark?"

"I'm not up to anything. It makes more sense. We can keep a direct eye on him." 

"Mm-hmm," Fury says, and "I'll take it under advisement," which was Fury's way of saying _get out of my office, Stark_. Tony pretended to not understand. 

"It's good advisement. And plus, you won't be contributing to a hostile living environment for the rest of us. The room search thing is just a shade too penitentiary for me." 

"I will take it," Fury says, slowly, dangerously, "under advisement."

\-----

Clint doesn't appreciate Tony's brilliant plan. Instead, he storms out of Tony's bed, wordless, his movements jerky and angry as he gets dressed, yanking his shirt back on, and then his jeans. The wear and rips of that particular pair--Clint's favorite muck-about-the-tower pair--are familiar to Tony now. He makes a grab to catch Clint by them, but Clint steps away. 

"Come on, Barton. It was just a--"

Clint gives him a look, eyes flashing rage and looks like he's about to unleash a tirade of _Tony, you asshole_ , but then he doesn't. It looks, kind of, like there's a hundred ways he wants to start that tirade, but he can't decide on any one of them. After a few moments he shakes his head, looking somehow deflated. 

Then he goes with, "Fuck you, Tony," and it's low and not even angry and then he leaves, not storming or stomping. Just leaving.

"This wasn't the plan," Tony says, flopping onto his back, and then, " _Fuck_."

\-----

"Are you breaking up with me?" Tony asks when Clint wanders into his lab the next day, still solemn faced. 

"No," Clint says, mouth twitching into a brief smile as he picks up a pair of safety goggles, "Blow something up."

Tony grins and grabs his own pair. "If something _surprising_ happens? I won't be responsible for my actions."

"Me either," Clint says, "Never know what panic will make you do."

Tony's not sure what he's expecting when he detonates what is a crappy excuse for a mini-rocket, but it's definitely not Clint punching him in the face. "Shit," Clint says, flat and dry, "I didn't see _that_ coming. Sorry. Panic and all that."

It's hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough for damage. And okay. Clint's still pissed at him. Fine.

"You have nineteen and a half minutes left of no-rules. You going to use it to kick my ass?" He really hopes that's not what Clint has planned. Even the _one_ Clint-punch is enough to make his face hurt way more than he generally considers acceptable. 

Clint rips his goggles off and throws them at him. Then he says, "I don't want to belong to you, Tony. It's--Do you have any idea how fucking messed up that would be?"

"Yeah," Tony says, "sure. _Way_ more messed up than being hauled out of bed first thing in the morning so agents can count your fucking arrows." He's not even going to touch the other stuff--the threat of dehumanizing levels of supervision, the veritable house-arrest, the entire weekend they'd let Clint believe he was _paralyzed_ just to prove a fucking point. 

Clint lets his breath out in an exasperated huff, then says, "I don't fuck people who own me, Tony." There's something in it that Tony doesn't want to look at too close. Something that makes the statement not quite as firm as Clint maybe wants it to come off sounding. 

"Alright," he says, "No fixing. I got it." 

Clint doesn't look like he believes him, but he also doesn't punch him again. Instead he lets the remainder of the twenty minutes of lab explosion no-rules panic time run out, then kisses him, quick and a little awkward--and he'd damn well better feel awkward, what with the socking people in the face and all--then says, "Don't try it again," and leaves.

\-----

The next time SHIELD searches Clint's living space is after a mission--a mission where Tony notices just how closely Clint is monitored, and how often he checks back with his handler. How his requests for more ammunition are worded. _Permission to restock_ starts to drives him nuts after about the third time he hears it. How had he not noticed before? Even Cap looks pained by it.

But Clint is all defiance as he lets himself be stripped of weapons and battle gear later, head up, daring Tony or Steve to interfere. He keeps the look even later, when the same agents--Tony would recognize Clipboard and Shmuck anywhere, now--drop by the tower to divest him of any ammunition he's gathered since the last time. 

"You know I can't help myself, guys," Clint says, as Shmuck gives _him_ a once over and Clipboard notes his injuries on the same form. 

That just pisses Tony off. 

"Medical's got a record, you know," he points out, because medical _does_. The whole team has records with medical. 

"Special Inventories," Clipboard says, like that's an explanation for anything. Tony wants to hustle him out of the tower, maybe with the business end of a tazer, but Clint gives him that dark, angry look that means no-rules lab-panic time will be less than fun if he interferes. 

And he _hates_ not interfering, but he manages not to. Doesn't quite manage not to glare at Clint, the stubborn, stupid fucker.

"Any reason you're so interested, Stark?" Clipboard asks, putting his pen away. It's just casual, good natured teasing, but it just makes Tony want to break his face even more, what with Clint standing there letting them take _inventory_ of him.

"You mean other than that he's a jackass who can't mind his own business?" Clint chimes in. He has some kind of weird relationship with Clipboard and his less-than-smart sidekick, Tony realizes. Some kind of screwy professional amiability, even despite Clint's wariness and pissed-off air, and even though Clipboard has him standing in the hall again--albeit dressed this time--like some kind of criminal detainee.

It's completely fucked up. 

He watches Shmuck give Clint the _too many arrows, Barton_ , lecture and listens to Clint's bullshit "Yes, sir"s when they all know he's going to be hoarding ammunition again, regardless. 

The repetitive nature of Clint's life is depressing as fuck and Tony's not sure how Clint expects him to _not_ interfere, but he takes a breath and manages.

\-----

"I get away with stuff," is what Clint says when Steve asks about what might happen if he keeps getting caught with more ammunition than he has permission for. Or he says, "It's good to be good," and grins in self-satisfaction. 

"I need you on this team, Clint," Steve says, "If there's anything--"

Clint laughs. Short and unamused. "You too, Cap? Been talking to Tony?"

"Oh right," Tony says, a little dramatically, "Blame everything on me." It wasn't really fair to blame Clint's screwed-up-ness on Clint either, though. He wasn't even sure how long Clint had been with SHIELD. How much time they'd had to get him all turned around. 

"If you ever need help," Steve goes on anyway, and Tony can see there's gears turning in Cap's head, too, but can't quite read his intentions. Clint doesn't seem to notice, slouching peevishly.

"Yeah, yeah, you need me on the team," he says, "I won't get myself pulled, Cap. Don't worry."

\-----

It makes Tony feel a little bit guilty about engaging in activity that might get Clint pulled from the team, but he doesn't say so, because this time it's Clint who sets off the excuse-explosion and doesn't even use the time to take a swing at him. Instead he leans into Tony and stands there with his safety goggles in one hand, grinning like a loon.

"I don't know," Tony says, "I think this whole panic-time ploy might be getting a little transparent. We might need different cover."

Clint grabs him by the shirt, but leans in instead of pulling Tony closer. "What? You don't think the fire and smoke is subtle enough?" 

The fire and the smoke is _perfect_. The fire and smoke and the way loud exploding things made Clint all silly and hopped up on adrenaline is even better. Plus, it had the added bonus of no one else wanting to come into the lab and risk getting sucked into participation in another experiment or into dealing with the resulting fallout. Tony calls for JARVIS to lock the doors anyway, then ducks out of his shirt, leaving it dangling in Clint's hands. 

"So," he says, "how is it that you only get a baker's dozen of arrows but you're allowed to play with flame throwers and detonate shit?"

Clint looks at the shirt in his hands like he's not sure what to do with it when the tables are all covered in machinery parts, then tosses it at Tony's chair. "They didn't tell me I couldn't," he says, "I don't think the possibility occurred to them, really. Don't tell?" His smirky conspiratorial grin is right up there on Tony's top five sexy things. 

"Never, Barton. You and explosions are my favorite combination." 

"Uh-huh," Clint says, and pulls his own shirt up over his head. Tosses it after Tony's. Then he tugs the buttons loose on his jeans and Tony steps in to bat his hands away and take over. Clint grins.

"You know," Tony says, "We could take this upstairs and you could stay and JARVIS could lock agents Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dip out. Or send a warning. You'd have plenty of time to get back, if they show up." Even if they were fond of the irregular stop-by. 

Clint doesn't answer, pretending to be engaged in figuring out the fly of Tony's pants like it's some kind of complex puzzle. "You're kind of a stickler, huh Barton? I'm surprised," Tony says, and Clint leans against him and kisses along his jaw. 

"Yeah, Stark. That's me. Follow-the-rules-Hawkeye."

\-----

The whole team dinner out thing is way less fun when they're aware that Clint _can't_ come rather than _won't_ come, so it becomes team take-out night, even though Tony misses the pinball machines. 

"Pinball machines, Barton! You can't swallow your pride and ask for one lousy night out for _pinball_? _Classic_ pinball. I'll even supply the quarters." He's not serious and he knows Clint knows it, because he doesn't even twitch. Just fishes more pie out of the box on the counter and grins. 

Steve, though, says, "Tony," in a warning tone, because Steve is still scandalized as hell by what they're calling Clint's _situation_. 

"How do you not have a whole floor of pinball already?" Natasha asks, eating pie with her hands, like Clint. Barbarians, the pair of them. "If you're so in love with it."

"Because, like diner pie--you're supposed to have a little fork and bad coffee, by the way--you need a specific _setting_ to make it amazing. Pinball in your high rise is just tacky."

"What this pie needs to be amazing," Clint says, "is more pie." But later, when he's sprawled on Tony's bed, hogging space _and_ lying on top of the blankets, he says, in a tone that's weirdly apologetic, "If Phil was still my handler, I'd ask for the time."

 _If Phil wasn't dead_ , he means, so Tony drops it. 

\-----

What's even _less_ fun is when Clint gets slammed into a building twice and then into a water tank and SHIELD takes him to medical and then doesn't give him back.

"It's completely our right" Fury says, when Steve stops storming around his office long enough to actually listen to a response to the demanding, questioning looks he keeps tossing the man.

"Is he even okay? It's been _days_. We want to see him."

Fury levels him the most even glare he's ever seen from that eye. "I bet you do, Stark," he says. Then, "You know Barton's not the only one who could be in trouble for interfering with SHIELD property."

"What?" That's yet another level of fucked up, when _Clint_ is the property Clint's supposedly interfering with.

"Nobody's interfering with your _property_ ," Steve snarls, spitting the word. 

"Oh, really?" Fury says, cool and even and his single eye doesn't even look angry as it focuses on Tony.

"What the fuck are you getting at?" Tony snaps, even as his stomach twists into knots and sinks.

"A man will say the strangest things," Fury says, "when he's coming out of anesthesia."

\-----

"You were _what_?" Steve demands, while Natasha glares ice.

"I can explain. There was a--" The explosion-no-rules story seems weak, at best. It turned out it was one of those things that worked a lot better as an idea than when put to the test. "Okay. Fine. I can't explain." 

"Tony--"

"I _know_. It was selfish. I should have left him alone." But it was hard to quit when a guy said _I'm not allowed_ instead of _fuck right off_. Tony was all about busting _not allowed_ right off it's hinges.

"If they take him off the team," Natasha hisses, "If they hurt him in any way at all, _Stark_ , I promise you will be sorry you ever laid eyes on him."

"I can't promise that I _can_ be sorry about that," Tony says, even though he's already a bit sorry about some of the things that came after _laid eyes on_. 

\-----

Clint is functionally Fury's.

It's a fact that means more when Tony pairs it with the fact that the Initiative is also functionally Fury's. Is, in fact, Fury's baby. 

"Fury loves the Initiative in his cold, evil little heart," Tony tells Bruce and Steve, laying out his plan in the kitchen. Which may as well be their household war-room. "And he loves Captain America. Are you guys following?"

"No," Bruce says, dry. Tony ignores him.

"We--and by 'we' I mean Steve--need to convince him that we need Clint back. Tell him we'll take any supervision he wants. The guy can even live here, if that's what it takes. I'll give him his own fucking floor. Two floors."

"Tony, I've been trying," Steve says, then "I'll keep trying."

\-----

Sort of, eventually, Fury gives in. Because Tony's theories are _always_ accurate.

"He'll be on Avengers missions, but he'll deploy from SHIELD. He'll train at SHIELD. If you need him at the tower, you'll arrange it through his handler."

"We want to see him," Steve says, a request instead of a demand.

"You'll see him," Fury says, "On your next mission."

\-----

"I'm sorry," Tony says, hovering near where Clint is dusting himself off, checking himself for injury before he lets Tony pluck him off his perch. 

"You didn't do anything," Clint says, eyes watching the ground as Tony lazily brings them down, drawing out the minutes until he has to hand Clint over to SHIELD. "It was--They had to put me under to operate. I thought you were there. I don't know what I said, but I thought you were there."

Tony sets down near Cap and lets Clint go, then flips his face plate up. "This isn't your fault. _I'm_ sorry. Okay? I knew you didn't want to risk your place on the team and I didn't listen, and--"

"I made my own choice, Tony," Clint snaps, then looks away to turn the glare on Steve, who looks like he's on the verge of agreeing with Tony. " _I_ decided," and then, with a fierce grin, " _You_ couldn't make me do anything. _Can't_ make me. _You_ don't own me."

"Yeah," Tony agrees, as Clint's handler strides up, taking bow and ear piece and announcing Clint's return to his hand over his own com unit. "That would be fucked up."

Clint grins.

"But I'd still be more awesome than this douche," Tony says, and nods his head at the handler.

\-----

They get Clint on Tuesdays, if he's behaved himself. It's like fighting a fucking custody battle. Which, Tony supposes, they are. Cap fills the time with group training and _team bonding_ \--which is a determinedly cheerful re-make of team take-out night, complete with bickering and fighting over last helpings of personal favorites. 

There's no way to get Clint alone for anything--not that Tony would, after all the trouble it's gotten Clint into--but since the cat is out of the bag anyway there's no reason to not lean against him while he licks pie filling off his fingers and crabs at Natasha about his SHIELD quarters. 

Clint's rooms are exactly as he's left them. Tony doesn't mention it.

\-----

The lack of time together means Clint's not up on the latest plays. He's rehearsed them, but he hasn't run them over and over with the team, so it's his fault--or his mistake, rather--that nearly gets Natasha killed. 

Tony gets her behind the lines as soon as he can--Steve and Thor handling what's left of the skirmish--and Clint kneels on the broken concrete with his hands over her wound, silent and grim-faced and then there's a lot of yelling for medics, for Fury's head, for Clint to be moved back permanently before someone gets _killed_. 

"Shut up!" Clint yells at them, and when his handler starts to say something repeats, "Shut up!" and follows it with "Hang on. Hang on, Nat."

She's fine. There's three days in medical and an order to take it easy and stay off her feet, but she's fine. 

"This wouldn't have happened," she says, writing her report on the couch, "if Clint had had more than two Tuesdays of training with that manoeuvre."

\-----

"You keep Stark's hands off him," Fury says, oblivious to Clint's uncomfortable twitch, "And you learn the rules and stick to them. If you want to be his handler, you'll be responsible for him. Safety. Behavior. _Discipline_. If you can't do that, Rogers--" He lets it hang. It obvious what he means.

"I'm sure it won't come to that," Steve says, with a look at Clint, "Barton?"

"Sure," he says, "I can behave." And then his gaze flicks over at Tony and back to the table top. 

\----- 

Tony sets off an explosion and Clint grins because he's still something of an adrenaline junkie, but there's no twenty minutes of no-rules _anything_. Clint smiles a little, and flashes him a look, but his place back at the tower isn't secure enough to take the risk. 

"Cap's probably peering around somewhere, anyway," Tony says, as the smoke billows then clears, sucked out by the lab's highly efficient ventilation system. 

\-----

There's a high point to Clint being assigned to the Initiative and to Steve, and that high point is pinball. Steve is, after all, his supervising handler now.

"Oh god, this place," Clint says, like he's walked into a shrine. Everything around them is lights and sound effects and pizza. Steve grins. 

"Finally a proper team night out," he says, and Bruce says, "Even though this place doesn't do a thing for my nerves, if you know what I mean."

"I have no idea what you mean. How could you be unhappy when I have a briefcase full of quarters?" Tony demands, and snaps his fingers at Natasha, who hasn't ditched them this time, "You. Order before Thor does."

Her eyes narrow, but there's no horror like Asgardian taste in pizza, so she drags Bruce with her to the counter. 

And then it's just him and Steve as Thor and Clint wander the row of packed together vintage machines, Clint's voice drifting back, regaling Thor with pinball victories of his youth and bragging about how he could play for hours on a single quarter.

"This took Natasha getting hurt," Steve warns, and Tony looks at him, then back at where Clint is pressing a coin into Thor's hand in what is clear challenge, the flashing lights playing over the both of them. 

"I have a briefcase full of change," he repeats to Steve, "Can I bribe you to look the other way?"

Steve says, "I can't Tony. He's not _free_. And he's not _ours_."

"Ours?" Tony says, "He doesn't want to be our-- _Damn_ it. He _shouldn't_ be the _Initiative's_! Listen. Clint doesn't want me or the team to own him, but what if it was _you_? You, personally?" 

"Tony, I don't want to _own_ anybody."

"It's not just anybody. You'll own _Clint_. You want me to tell you what they did to him when he tried to run? _You_ wouldn't fuck with him. _You_ wouldn't go through his things. And _you_ wouldn't take him off the team over a few hugs." 

"Hugs," Steve says, with a snort, "Right."

"You don't know what happened, and neither does SHIELD. He was anesthesia talking. Clearly out of loneliness and mental distress and wistful thinking. This will work, Cap. Fury will go for it," Tony says, "It's not like _he_ has it in for Clint. Just bat your Captain America blues at him, and say pretty please for the Avengers. Or say Initiative, he likes that word."

Steve sighs, but it's in unhappiness and defeat. "Tony," he tries. Tony ignores him.

"Clint!" he calls, "I'm a genius! Come on. We have to go blow something up."

"Not now, Stark. I'm kicking Thor's ass."

Tony considers that, then smirks and tells Cap, "I want you to know, Mr. Special Asset Handler, that I can get very excited when I win at pinball." 

"Hah. Me, too," Clint yells back.

\-----

The plan is perfect, other than the small detail of SHIELD not being willing to give up one of its best assets, history of mind control aside. Fury can get Steve what is essentially a long term lease, "As long you both stay with the Initiative. You walk, he comes home," Fury says, "but other than that, he's as good as yours."

Steve signs the paper that Fury offers him, looking wretched and maybe a little sick. The pen doesn't look too steady in his hand. 

"I'm sorry," he tells Clint, when they get back to the tower, even though Clint looks pretty laid back about the whole thing. "I _own_ you, I'm so sorry," and then he sits at the table for a long time, looking at his signature on the lease of contract.

"I'm property with or without you, Cap," Clint says, and shrugs. It doesn't seem to do much to cheer Steve up, and Tony's not entirely sure why Clint thought it might, because the look that washes over Steve's face--guilt and anguish--was really pretty predictable.

"I'd free you if I could," Steve says, with that Steve-sincerity that makes Tony want to either kick him or hug him, all intense blue eyes and meaningful frown. 

"Hey," Clint says, leaning over to peer at the papers like he's never seen his own contract before. Maybe he hasn't. "Property of Captain America. That's pretty sweet bragging rights, Steve. I'm not complaining."

"I'll have you some t-shirts made," Tony says, and Steve lets out a huff of laughter at the exchange, but his smile looks watery and strained. 

"You're all being ridiculous," Natasha says, "Just put those away and let's make dinner. It's just paper. Nothing's _actually_ changed."

"That's what you think," Clint says, and smirks, "Guess how many arrows I already have stashed under my bed?"

"Fast work," Tony says, "You've been Cap's for like an hour."

Clint grins. "I had a head start," he allows.

\-----

The first thing Tony does when Clint's contract--they call it that. Like the _arrangement_ was something Clint had the power to legally agree to and sign off on--is safely leased to Steve Rogers is to blow shit up. _Lots_ of shit. Then he says, "I'm just beside myself with panic, Barton," and smirks crookedly at him. 

Pinball victory no-rules has largely replaced standing in acrid smoke, but Clint grins and wheels over in a desk chair, hooking a foot around Tony's leg to pull himself in. And then he wraps his arms around Tony's middle and presses his cheek to his chest, just left of the arc reactor. 

"What is this?" Tony says, "You're _supposed_ to make out with me now. Did you forget how this works?" but he drops his arms around Clint's shoulders, only one hand snaking under the collar of his shirt to find skin, his thumb stroking over the scar that marks where the tracker is implanted. It's not a risk anymore, with Cap holding the controls. Even if Clint sets it off, they'll fix him as soon as they can. No wait, no threat. Cap would never leave him like that. 

"I told you not to fix things," Clint says, going for grumpy, his voice muffled against Tony's belly.

"I know," Tony says, "I'm selfish. I'm a fixer. I'm an interfere-er. I can't help myself. Are you mad? You didn't say no, you didn't say we shouldn't go ahead with it." Clint nods, shifting closer, leaning into him, and Tony slides his hand away from the scar, stroking over Clint's back, fingers playing over the ridge of one shoulder blade. Clint returns it, fingers finding their way under Tony's shirt to play along his spine.

"I wanted to know what it was like," he says.

"What what was like? Hugging?" Tony asks, teasing, and Clint snorts and settles himself more comfortably, head ducked to avoid the arc reactor, arms resting easily on Tony's hips.

"No," he says, "To be allowed."

Tony's not sure what to say to that, so he tightens his grip a little bit then asks, "How's it so far?"

"So far so good," Clint says, but doesn't let go. Tony doesn't either.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll set the publish date back to what it was in a few days. I wasn't sure how else to handle the update-that-is-not-a-new-chapter update.
> 
> I hope that's ok. Tell me if it's like a huge breach of AO3 etiquette or something. I worry about these things.


End file.
